They became accustomed
to the naughty jokes of the old clerk.
So long as they remained in the dining-room, they were able to keep
their terror under control. The mind could not imagine the frightful
change that came over them, as soon as they were shut up in their
bedroom. On the Thursday night, particularly, this transformation was
so violently brutal, that it seemed as if accomplished in a supernatural
world. The drama in the bedroom, by its strangeness, by its savage
passion, surpassed all belief, and remained deeply concealed within
their aching beings. Had they spoken of it, they would have been taken
for mad.
"How happy those sweethearts are!" frequently remarked old Michaud.
"They hardly say a word, but that does not prevent them thinking. I bet
they devour one another with kisses when we have gone."
Such was the opinion of the company. Therese and Laurent came to be
spoken of as a model couple. All the tenants in the Arcade of the Pont
Neuf extolled the affection, the tranquil happiness, the everlasting
honeymoon of the married pair. They alone knew that the corpse of
Camille slept between them; they alone felt, beneath the calm exterior
of their faces, the nervous contractions that, at night, horribly
distorted their features, and changed the placid expression of their
physiognomies into hideous masks of pain.
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